The Final Soliloquy of Dave Strider
by crazyblaine
Summary: "Dave?" John yawned on the other end of the line. "It's 2am, dude. What do you need?" The phone was clenched tightly in his pale hands, his breathing heavy. "J-john," he choked out. "I fucked up." Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

PART 1

The time was approaching midnight at the (conveniently named) Midnight Crew Club downtown. Dave Strider was DJing the gig for a birthday party. He wasn't really feeling it tonight. Of course, no one knew this, because even on his worst of nights his skills were impeccable. He knew what the crowd was feeling, and gave them the songs and mixes that kept them moving for hours at a time.

His set would be over around midnight, and then he could relax a little, grab a drink. That was what currently kept him afloat as he noticed a few assholes make their way through the crowd up to his stage. Not that anyone could see behind his shades, he rolled his eyes and thought to himself that this ought to be fun.

The first thing he noticed was that they were drunk. Like, really drunk. Like, Roxy on New Year's drunk.

The leader of the posse, a girl with glasses that looked like they hopped off the face of a man from 1983 grinned a malicious drunken grin, leaning onto his turntables with a lack of respect he immediately knew he would dish right back to her. As for the other two, a short Mexican looking dude with a mohawk was holding up a nearly passed out girl with long braids and pink horn rimmed glasses. He could appreciate the irony at a later date. Right now he had George Costanza to deal with over here.

"Sup?" he said, loudly enough to be heard over the bass.

"Oh, mister DJ, won't you do us a favor and play this list?" she slurred, holding up a paper with songs written in sloppy blue ink. "It's for the birthday boy." she added, as if trying to defend the fact that there was a fucking Justin Bieber song on this shit mix.

He raised his eyebrow. "What do you mean?" (He couldn't help the reference.) He backtracked before she could answer. "Sorry lady, I'm closing up shop in five minutes. And I don't do requests." Especially not ones with My Chemical Romance either, he added mentally. Not that he didn't appreciate their… artistry. This was a club though, not Warped Tour. EDM, rap, dubstep, rave shit- that was what the crowd was into tonight.

She pouted. "Pleeeeeeeease?" she whined. He rolled his eyes again before he could help himself. This chick was annoying as hell.

"Again, sorry." he said shortly, patience wearing thin.

After muttering a few choice words under her breath, the girl staggered off, the mohawk dude and almost-unconscious braid chick in unsteady pursuit.

The final song entered its ending chord. A few seconds later it was done, and he grabbed his mic. "That's all for tonight, folks. Now go get wasted!"

Cheers and applause resonated throughout the already-wasted crowd. He took a bow and removed his turntables from the table, storing them in back for later when he would leave.

One of the perks of DJing for an incredibly low rate was getting treated to unlimited free drinks at the bar. Dave wasted no time in ordering a good old fashioned JD, downing it in one go. It had been a long while since he had noticed the burn in his throat.

Dave, unfortunately, had a nasty habit of drinking his issues away. Tonight was no exception. Less than an hour later he was completely hammered, hiccuping every now and then, on his tenth drink or so. The bartender kept giving him concerned glances, and when Dave gestured for an eleventh the good fellow refused.

"Bro, you're gonna bust open your liver!" he said worriedly.

Dave had heard that before, from his friends. Well, they weren't really friends anymore. Actually, he had no idea where he stood with Rose and Jade and John and everyone else. It had been a long time since he had last talked to any of them. Not wanting to think about that anymore, he handed the bartender a hundred dollar bill and demanded the strongest thing on tap. With wide eyes, the bartender couldn't say no- Dave knew very well that the club had fallen on financial troubles lately. So the poor man reluctantly poured Dave a tall glass.

He downed that in one go too, and he even felt a little scorch going on, that's how strong it was. Which is pretty strong to a guy who had been abusing alcohol for a year now.

Time began drifting in and out of his head. He glanced at his phone. 1:37am. He still had a little while before the club closed. He rested his head on the counter of the bar, closing his eyes momentarily. Before he could stop himself, the thoughts and memories came rushing back in, despite how drunk he would get himself to try and forget it.

" _David, you can't keep doing this. You are going to drink yourself to death!" Rose had said in a firm voice, which did not fully conceal the fear she was experiencing. Dave couldn't believe this. There they were, his so called friends, sitting in a semicircle in his living room, trying to hold an intervention._

" _Yo, chill out. So what if I like to party, Lalonde? No one's getting hurt." God, he had a massive hangover. He just wanted to go the fuck to sleep._

" _Not yet, Dave, but we're really worried that you might!" protested Jade, hands clenched uneasily in her lap. He sighed._

" _I can't deal with this right now." He turned around to leave._

" _You cannot keep running from your problems like this! Sooner or later, you're going to have to man up and come to terms with the fact that you have issues just like everyone else, and you MUST deal with them in a healthy way!" shouted Rose, clenching her fists. He gritted his teeth, whipped around and stumbled a bit from the sudden movement._

" _You're one to talk, you fucking hypocrite! You used to drink every fucking minute of the day back in high school." he growled. An uncomfortable silence fell. John looked anxiously between the two of them. He hadn't spoken yet since Dave had walked in._

 _Rose's expression turned steely. After an agonizingly long minute, she stood up. "Come on, Jade. John. We're leaving." She looked at Dave again. "When you get your shit together, you can come find us." And she brushed past him, just like that, out of his life forever, John and Jade too._

That had been a month ago. Dave had continued his way of life: party, work and repeat- constantly. Despite filling the emptiness inside with liquor, he missed them, not that he would ever admit that out loud. Glancing back down at his phone again, he saw that his wallpaper was still a selfie of him and John from the time they had gone to meet Nic Cage in person. _That was a fun day_ , he thought, heart aching and head throbbing from drunkenness.

In his haze and stupor, old angst began rearing its ugly head. The dark thoughts he specifically drank to forget about were starting to catch up with him again.

A dull pain throbbed in his right side where his poor liver was trying to process the high alcohol concentration.

 _This is all my fault,_ he thought sadly. _I fucked up the only good things in my life, my best bro, my sister, my best girl friend…_

Before he could stop himself a tear rolled down his cheek. Normally, he would wipe it away immediately to protect his image, but he was starting to care less and less. He was one of maybe 3 poor bastards left at the bar anyways, sans the tender.

 _No one else cares, so why should I?_

 _I'm such a dick._

 _I hate this pain, this suffering… I wish it would all just go away._

And Dave knew of a way to stop his suffering, permanently, but became angry at himself for even considering that cowardly option. Suicide was for asshole pussies, and he may be an asshole, but he was NOT a pussy. Hell, he didn't even LIKE pussy. Dick was where it was at.

And now it was 2am, and the bartender was telling him it was time to close up, Dave was the only one left in the club, and did he want to call a cab?

Wobbling to his feet, he shook his head no, lying that he had a ride home. After enduring a moment of scrutiny from the bartender, he turned around and left, grabbing his turntables on the way out and loading it up in the back of his truck. Of course he didn't have a ride. And even though he knew damn well he shouldn't be driving, he found that his gives-a-fuck-ometer was out of service. A true tragedy indeed.

He basically fell into the driver's seat and sat up, but a wave of nausea hit him. Not even two seconds later, he was outside again on his knees like the pathetic piece of shit he was, puking out his brains onto the cold, unforgiving sidewalk.

Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes. He stared downwards. His shades had fallen off his face, landing in the pile of vomit. The gift he cherished most from John, ruined by his own stupidity. The rational part of his mind told him that since they were just plastic and metal he could just wash them off later, but that rational bit was being pushed away, aided by hours of chemical suppression. He began to cry in earnest now, great heaving sobs erupting from his chest. He hated himself for letting it get this far. He didn't even remember when it started; it was just him partying more often, like once a week, until it had escalated into a many times a day binge drinking. And he hated himself for it, it was all his fault, that he lost his friends and job and flunked out of college.

He began to wonder, not for the first time, what the fucking point was, of this ugly cycle of self-hatred and shame. What was the point of living if he couldn't even be sober to enjoy it? He pulled out his phone again. 2:08 AM. He looked through his contacts, the beaming face of his best friend smiling up at him. And he did the only thing he think to do, in his broken state.

He called the number for the first time in a long time. He was trembling and cursed himself, _get a grip for fuck's sake, Strider, you're better than this_ (even though he knew he wasn't) and the line _brrrrringed_ for what seemed an eternity before a sleepy voice answered.

"Dave?" John yawned on the other end of the line. "It's 2am, dude. What do you need?" The phone was clenched tight in his pale hands, his breathing heavy.

"J-john," he choked out. "I fucked up."

The tone of his voice made John more alert in an instant. Dave could hear shuffling around on the other line, assuming that John was putting on his glasses, those dorky ass glasses, and he knew instantly that this was a mistake.

When John came back on the line, his voice was clearer and concerned. "Dave, are you drunk? Where are you?"

Dave couldn't help but hiccup and laugh bitterly. "I can't believe you, Egbert… after everything that's happened between all of us, you're still trying…" And Dave knew in his soul that he didn't deserve one ounce of kindness from John.

A sigh came from the other end. "Yeah, well, I don't need you doing anything stupid, dude. Just tell me where you are, I'll come get you." More shuffling, he must be getting dressed. A grim smile spread across Dave's tear-streaked face. He staggered to his feet and got back into the truck, shutting the door as quietly as he could. He turned the key into the ignition with uncoordinated hands and the red Chevy rumbled to life.

John was back again. "What was that? Dave, are you driving?" He started to sound panicky. "You fuck, don't do this! You're smarter than that, you know your limits-"

"John," and Dave's voice was subdued and quiet, one hand putting the car into gear and then on the steering wheel. He suddenly felt very calm, and his decision had been made. Life was a highway, after all- and the highway didn't last forever, and HIS highway certainly wasn't going anywhere.

"Dave?" he said, (it was more of a question really,) uncertain.

"John, I love you man." And he hung up before John could say another word. He stepped on the gas and briefly thought, _I'm driving the exact opposite way they wanted me to drive, I'm drunk, I'm not wearing a seatbelt, no headlights on, speeding-_

He ignored the phone ringing incessantly on the seat next to him, eyes blurrily focused on the road, grateful for the lack of other cars because FUCK he couldn't take it if he crashed and killed some innocent driver because of his own fucking stupidity. He knew he was being stupid but he didn't care because he wanted OUT, out of this shitty fucking hole he had dug himself.

His phone dinged with a text message, and he picked it up- _texting while driving in addition to all the other fuck ups-_ because he could handle non verbal communication, he just couldn't talk to John out loud right now.

 **EB: DAVE!**

 **EB: dave, please! I really hope you aren't driving, and if you are, please please pull over somewhere safe!**

 **EB: just tell me where you are, i don't care where we stand, you're going to get hurt and i don't know what i would do if i lost my best friend!**

Dave contemplated answering.

 **TG: hfnom**

 **EB: what?**

 **TG: sorry im a bit distracted**

 **EB: OH MY GOD DAVE PULL THE FUCK OVER**

 **TG: you sound like karkat loam**

 **EB: DAVE PLEASE**

 **EB: I'M FREAKING OUT OVER HERE**

 **TG: its ok john**

 **TG: itll all be overe soon**

 **EB: what do you mean?**

 **TG: "when u nod ur head yes, when u wanna say no, what do u mean"**

 **EB: i can't fucking believe you. you're making fucking justin bieber jokes whilst texting me and driving drunk!**

 **TG: lmap**

Dave wasn't actually laughing. As a matter of fact, tears were pouring in quick succession down his cheeks. He watched the road, and then his speedometer. He was approaching 80mph and stepped harder on the pedal, the truck groaning its distaste in response, but adhering to his command.

At 90mph, Dave checked his phone again.

 **EB: dave, this isn't funny.**

 **EB: i'm begging you, just… just pull over, ok? it will be okay, we can work through this! i'll take you home and you can sleep in my bed and then when you wake up, i'll have made you pancakes and we can talk it out. how does that sound?**

 **EB: dave?**

 **EB: dave i'm going to call the police if you don't answer me immediately and agree to pull over.**

 **EB: come on dude just make it easy on yourself. think of the pancakes!**

 **EB: DAVE.**

 **TG: do it**

 **EB: do what?**

 **TG: call the police**

 **TG: theyll have to find me anyway**

 **TG: when im gone**

 **EB: i don't know what you're talking about, but i don't like the sounds of it.**

 **EB: are you pulled over?**

Dave's hands clenched on the steering wheel. 108mph. He could practically feel the engine begging him to stop this torture. This was the exact opposite of being pulled over.

 **TG: no but listen**

 **TG: tell lalonde im sorry for what happened**

 **TG: and jade, tell her too**

 **TG: and im really sorry john**

 **TG: i fucked up really bad with you guys huh**

 **EB: that doesn't matter right now! all that matters is your safety, so pull over.**

 **EB: we can talk later about all the other stuff!**

 **TG: im sorry john**

 **TG: i love you man im so sorry i cant**

 **EB: …..dave?**

 **EB: i**

 **EB: i'm going to call the police now.**


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

John was dreaming, dreaming that he was flying above a giant chess board when a familiar ringtone lurched him back into the real world. Groaning, his hand fumbled blindly in the darkness to grab his phone off the table at his bedside. He blinked and squinted at the too-bright screen, eyes widening when he recognized the peace sign and sunglasses. It was Dave.

He contemplated answering or not, because he _knew_ that there would only be one reason for Dave calling at this time, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to deal with that bullshit right now. Against his better judgement, and cursing his good heart, he pressed the green button. "Dave?" John tried to stifle a yawn and failed. "It's 2am, dude. What do you need?"

From the other end of the line he heard heavy, ragged breathing. He frowned. Something was wrong.

"J-john," Dave choked out. "I fucked up."

John felt all the blood drain from his face- even in Dave's most drunken hazes, never had he let slip any vulnerabilities, and that's what he sounded like now- vulnerable.

He reached to his bedside table and put on his glasses, blinking his vision into focus again.

When John came back on the line, his voice was clearer and concerned. "Dave, are you drunk? Where are you?"

He heard a hiccup and a laugh. "I can't believe you, Egbert… after everything that's happened between all of us, you're still trying…" John rolled his eyes and huffed, frustrated. Just because he wasn't on great terms with Dave right now, it didn't mean they weren't still friends.

"Yeah, well, I don't need you doing anything stupid, dude. Just tell me where you are, I'll come get you." He put Dave on speaker and hobbled out of bed, grabbing yesterday's t-shirt from the laundry bin because fuck it, his bro needed help. _When Rose finds out about this, she's gonna kill me_ , he thought.

The distinct sound of a familiar engine roaring to life brought his attention back to the phone. His heart skipped a beat in his chest. "What was that? Dave, are you driving?" He began to panic. "You fuck, don't do this! You're smarter than that, you know your limits-"

"John," and Dave's voice was subdued and quiet, and that scared the shit out of John, who was practically tearing down the staircase of his house and out the door even though he only had one shoe and sock on and into his dad's car. Something was so wrong, he felt it in his gut, and he'd be damned if he sat by and did nothing.

"Dave?" He said uncertainly, scrambling through the glove compartment, trying to find the keys.

"John, I love you man." And before John could say another word, Dave hung up.

He swore loudly and dialed the number he hadn't called in almost a month since the failed intervention. It rang and rang and rang and he was getting so frustrated and scared and even angry that Dave was being so STUPID right now that he just messaged him desperately.

 **EB: DAVE!**

 **EB: dave, please! I really hope you aren't driving, and if you are, please please pull over somewhere safe!**

 **EB: just tell me where you are, i don't care where we stand, you're going to get hurt and i don't know what i would do if i lost my best friend!**

 **TG: hfnom**

John almost cried in relief, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

 **EB: what?**

 **TG: sorry im a bit distracted**

 _HE WAS DRIVING,_ thought John in horror. Oh no…. Oh no no no no…

 **EB: OH MY GOD DAVE PULL THE FUCK OVER**

 **TG: you sound like karkat loam**

 **EB: DAVE PLEASE**

 **EB: I'M FREAKING OUT OVER HERE**

 **TG: its ok john**

 **TG: itll all be overe soon**

 **EB: what do you mean?**

 **TG: "when u nod ur head yes, when u wanna say no, what do u mean"**

 **EB: i can't fucking believe you. you're making fucking justin bieber jokes whilst texting me and driving drunk!**

 **TG: lmap**

He was getting desperate and upset and mostly just terrified, to be honest. But Dave wasn't in his right state of mind, so John had to be the cool one right now. He struggled to type coherently.

 **EB: dave, this isn't funny.**

 **EB: i'm begging you, just… just pull over, ok? it will be okay, we can work through this! i'll take you home and you can sleep in my bed and then when you wake up, i'll have made you pancakes and we can talk it out. how does that sound?**

There was no answer for several minutes. John's anxiety peaked and he felt himself trembling.

 **EB: dave?**

 **EB: dave i'm going to call the police if you don't answer me immediately and agree to pull over.**

 **EB: come on dude just make it easy on yourself. think of the pancakes!**

 **EB: DAVE.**

 **TG: do it**

 **EB: do what?**

 **TG: call the police**

 **TG: theyll have to find me anyway**

 **TG: when im gone**

 **EB: i don't know what you're talking about, but i don't like the sounds of it.**

 **EB: are you pulled over?**

 **TG: no but listen**

 **TG: tell lalonde im sorry for what happened**

 **TG: and jade, tell her too**

 **TG: and im really sorry john**

 **TG: i fucked up really bad with you guys huh**

 **EB: that doesn't matter right now! all that matters is your safety, so pull over.**

 **EB: we can talk later about all the other stuff!**

 **TG: im sorry john**

 **TG: i love you man im so sorry i cant**

 _Can't what?_ He thought desperately.

 **EB: …..dave?**

Dread filled up his gut and his lip trembled. Something bad had happened.

 **EB: i**

 **EB: i'm going to call the police now.**

But John, weak, precious John, instead flung his phone to the side and began driving, having only been sitting silently in his dad's car for the last several minutes, fingers flying across the tiny keyboard of his phone and thinking to himself, _Where would I go if I was drunk Dave Strider?_

And his thoughts flew to the song, the song Dave sang whenever he was driving John somewhere, just for shits and giggles.

He headed to the highway, praying to whatever deity that might exist that his misguided friend was simply pulled over on the side of the road and passed out on the steering wheel, and not-

He didn't let his thoughts go there. He just drove, Rascall Flatts blaring in his head with an accompanying image of a rare Strider smile.


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

For a June night in Texas, it was uncharacteristically cool; the temperature reached a low of 48 degrees F. It was a bit windy as well; the trees swayed and the leaves rustled in their strange symphony, accompanied by the whistle of air flowing through the tall blades of grass. There were no drivers around at this time of the morning. The interstate was as barren as the deserts its northern end led to; but at this stretch of the highway, it was surrounded by a beautiful forest of deciduous trees and low shrubbery.

A frog croaked from a pond nearby, and as if in response, an owl hooted from several yards away, safe in its tree, eyes wide and predatory. It focused its sights on the road, waiting for the inevitability of a small rodent attempting to cross to the other side.

The owl blinked. From the distance it could spot one of those loud human contraptions barreling its way down the long flat rock of the road. It spread its feathers slightly, a bit alarmed, as the human in control of this particular vehicle was swerving madly over the line that separated the two lanes. The rubber tires screeched violently towards the wrong side of the road, and then to the right, going back and forth, more and more tremulous each time than the previous.

It was with a great sense of unease that the owl saw the damned thing heading straight into the trees where it rested. With a loud cry it spread its great wings and flew off into the night sky, drowned out by the suddenly deafening crunches of twisting metal and screaming wheels. The truck came to an abrupt halt into a particularly massive oak. The great tree was not knocked over; it was solid and firm in the hundred years since its seed had taken root into the fertile soil.

Many sleeping birds flocked into the sky as well, startled. Then everything was absolutely silent.

The owl perched itself onto a different tree, ruffled from the sudden disturbance. Large, glowing eyes peered down onto the front end of the truck, where it was crumpled up like a piece of discarded paper.

A pale appendage was hanging limply out of the broken window, the shards of glass piercing the skin. Slivers of blood trickled down, down the arm and off of the fingers, ending their journey soundlessly upon hitting the dirt floor of the forest. There were no signs of movement and the owl warily lowered its guard, preening its feathers back into place. All was quiet again, the only casualties being the grass that was now mowed over into the shape of tire tracks, a few bushes, and the bark of the oak tree which had been crushed and stripped away upon impact.

Or, at the very least, those were the only casualties the owl cared about. The human behind the wheel of the totaled vehicle was nothing more than a disturbance in the owl's otherwise normal evening.

* * *

About three miles off of the entrance to the interstate, John could see telltale signs that Dave had been there. His dad's powerful high beams illuminated the roads, which, due to recent budget cuts, had not been illuminated by street lamps themselves. He could plainly see the evidence of erratic driving; tire tracks familiar to him mottled the pavement.

He clenched the steering wheel tersely, knuckles whiter than the full moon above him. The stars were unnaturally clear and visible tonight, considering that he was not that far away from the city. He found himself shaking slightly as the tracks veered right and left and all over the place, even sometimes clearly going off-road onto the sides. Not able to bear the silence anymore, John turned on the radio, and the heater as well, realizing that his shaking could be attributed to the strange coolness of this early morning.

"-what appears to have been an accident off exit 14, authorities have yet to determine whether the driver was inebriated, or otherwise complicated before he crashed-"

John slammed on his breaks, seatbelt straining to hold his torso in place. Eyes wide, he carefully pulled over to the side of the road, and, with a trembling hand, turned the volume up.

"A bartender from the local Midnight Crew has confirmed the driver of the vehicle to have been a DJ last night."

The recording of the voice of a tired young man came on. "I offered the guy to call him a cab or an Uber or something; he was clearly not able to drive himself. He told me he had a ride available and I backed off. I wish I had called him a cab. This could have been prevented."

"Oh my god," breathed John. He couldn't listen anymore. He punched the radio off and sat silently for a moment, chest heaving with emotion. He grabbed his hair with his hands and pulled, clenching his teeth to hold back his tears, which fell anyway. He choked. "Oh my fucking GOD," he said, a little louder, and started rocking back and forth in his seat. He punched the steering wheel, which honked as if in protest, and he did it again and again and again, crying hard and honking the stupid thing, unable to process what happened, that he was too late, that Dave-

Sniffling back another sob, John fruitlessly wiped at his eyes. He tried to take several deep breaths, and after a minute of trying and failing, he managed to get his heart rate down to a more acceptable level. I need to get to Dave, he realized. If he was- if he was dead (and John did not allow himself to think of anything except that it was only an if, that no way Dave was dead, of course not, he might be in bad shape, but dead? No!) If Dave was dead, John would have to identify- NO. "Dave is NOT fucking dead," he whispered furiously to himself, as if saying it aloud would confirm it as fact.

Taking another brief moment to collect himself, assuring himself that he was now okay to drive, he merged back onto the road, continuing down the freeway. Up ahead there was a commotion, and John felt like he might throw up. He slowed down as he reached the spot. There was a tow truck parked perpendicular in the middle of the highway, its rear end facing the opposite side of the road as John was headed. It looked as though it was pulling something out of the ditch.

He had to pull over again, holding his breath to the point of lightheadedness as the tail end of Dave's truck came into view. The rear tires were ruptured, and John could see the mangled remains of Dave's turntables in the bed. He lurched forward, gasping, when the front end and driver's side became visible. The driver door had been ripped off, and John remembered about the Jaws of Life, and felt ill again.

He physically needed to hold back his bile when he saw fresh blood, still dripping down the floor of the vehicle and onto the ground as the huge pile of scrap metal was slowly pulled out of its grave.

He knew then, he thought, that Dave must be dead. There was no way anyone could have survived this crash. The front windshield was gone, the front end was nothing more than twisted and melted scraps of aluminum and engine bits.

John was so lost in his horror that he failed to notice a gentleman in work boots and overalls approach his car. His pocket read Ampora Tow. John jumped when the man knocked on his window. Swallowing again, he opened it.

The man had a gruff, but not unkind countenance, marred only by two ugly scars up on his temple. "What are you doing about driving here this time of day, lad?" he asked.

"I," John didn't quite know how to answer. He glanced back at the mess, which was now fully removed from the ditch, and countered the man's question with one of his own, looking him square in the eyes: "Did he live?"

The man was taken aback by the intensity and sadness in John's bright blue eyes, and frowned sadly himself. "I don't know."

John breathed out. So maybe, he thought, maybe… There was a chance. No matter how small or fleeting, it was there. Seeming to follow John's train of thought, the man offered his opinion that they took the driver to the General Hospital. John thanked the man with the scars and rolled back up his window, determined yet frightened, uncertain and exhausted. As he drove away, the image of Dave's truck was firmly branded into his mind. He knew that regardless of whether Dave lived or died, John would never, ever forget this moment until the day HE died.


End file.
